<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>the cusp of unendurable by horatioandophelia</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28996347">the cusp of unendurable</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/horatioandophelia/pseuds/horatioandophelia'>horatioandophelia</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst with a Happy Ending, Artist!R, Combeferre &amp; Enjolras Platonic Life Partners, Dire Straits, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enjolras Is Bad At Feelings, Explicit Sexual Content, Friends With Benefits, Getting Together, Grantaire Angst, M/M, Requited Unrequited Love, law student!E, very short fic pls dont judge</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 10:41:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,941</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28996347</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/horatioandophelia/pseuds/horatioandophelia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Next to him, Grantaire’s hands stilled while tying up a garbage bag. He turned to look at Enjolras, who stared determinedly at the pile of empty beer cans at his feet. “You don’t believe that,” he said, as if explaining something very simple to a particularly obtuse individual. “You literally do not think that. Why are you saying it?”<br/>His throat contracting, Enjolras shrugged at the ground.<br/>“No, Enjolras,” said Grantaire, voice suddenly sharp. “You don’t get to say that and then not explain why, suddenly, you don’t think I’m the useless drunk you’ve always said I am.”<br/>Frozen, Enjolras could feel his heartbeat rising even higher.<br/>“Enjolras,” said Grantaire’s voice, deadly and merciless, and Enjolras flinched slightly.</p><p>[very short fic about falling in love against the will of the fates. happy new year!]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Combeferre/Courfeyrac (Les Misérables), Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>94</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the cusp of unendurable</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em> If you only knew, </em> something inside Enjolras sobbed. <em> If you only knew how I love you.  </em></p><p>The music was far too loud, but Enjolras knew from experience that from where he was standing (in the corner, by the empty cooler) he was protected from the worst of it. If he suggested turning it down, he knew that Courfeyrac would not only cheerfully decline to do so, but would also be adamant about getting him a refill. It was safer to tolerate the music from here. </p><p>And to feel his gaze drawn helplessly towards the mop of dark hair that was currently next to Bahorel. Grantaire’s back was to him in the tiny apartment, the changing disco lights making the line of his shoulders alternately blue and green, well-defined under his t-shirt. A boxer’s shoulders. Enjolras took another sip of his drink, watching the lights play through Grantaire’s hair, feeling his fingers clench around nothing, loathing himself for being so fucking <em> weak. </em> To Combeferre, he always maintained that the only reason he got so angry at Grantaire’s ceaseless and undeniably brilliant commentary was just because Grantaire was always wrong - but Enjolras knew that the real sting of their arguments lay not in the right and wrong opinion about state policy, but in the way that Grantaire’s face always twisted in disgust, the way Grantaire always left with someone else, the way that Grantaire <em> didn’t want him. </em>It was a feeling that verged incessantly on the cusp of unendurable, always balancing on the knife’s edge between desperate adoration and iron willpower… and recently, Enjolras noticed that he was beginning to fall on the wrong side. </p><p>Like now. God, did he have to laugh like that? Bahorel was smiling, but Grantaire had thrown his head back in mirth, the lines of his neck shifting and falling into shadow and light as he moved. <em> Chiaroscuro, </em> whispered Grantaire’s voice in the back of his head. They had been thrown together in the back of the group in a museum event hosted by an advocate group for immigrant rights, and Grantaire had hesitated next to a small black-and-white drawing of a temple with birds flying overhead. <em> Do you see the sunlight on the heads of the saints, Apollo? The way their faces fall into shadow but their hands are still in the light? </em>Enjolras had looked at him, had seen the same shadow and light playing on Grantaire’s features, and been in awe for the millionth time. Grantaire had glanced up at him from the painting, grinned that impossible, unreachable grin that Enjolras simultaneously loved and hated, and had sauntered back to the group, leaving Enjolras bereft next to a sketch of something that, a few moments before, had meant nothing at all. Later, when everyone had left for a cafe near the museum for lunch, he had, on the pretext of speaking to the curator, stayed behind to buy a tiny print of the sketch in the giftshop, taping it to the corner of his favorite notebook. </p><p>Coming back to himself, he blinked a few times. Something had changed; the music, while still loud, was much slower, and it seemed there was a general gathering around the coat rack. Taking a deep breath, Enjolras surreptitiously glanced around the room, letting out a sigh of relief when nothing seemed destroyed, broken, or spilled on surfaces that required intensive cleaning. Combeferre would probably be too drunk to clean tonight, and Enjolras knew himself well enough to know that he wouldn’t be sleeping much anyway, stuck in an endless spiral of desperately wishful thinking that never solved anything. </p><p>He might as well try to get some cleaning done. </p><p>Jehan, Courfeyrac, and Musichetta were all calling goodbyes to him from across the room, and he waved and smiled as best he could, deliberately <em> not </em>looking at Grantaire regarding him, keys in hand. </p><p>He jumped as Combeferre’s hand landed on his shoulder. </p><p>“Enj, do you mind if I head out too? It’s just that, well…” Combeferre trailed off, clearing his throat and glancing at Courfeyrac, who was quite obviously waiting for him by the door, smiling softly. Enjolras caught the look between them, his stomach clenching in rabid jealousy at the ease with which Combeferre smiled back at Courfeyrac. </p><p>Combeferre turned back to him. “R offered to stay and help clean up,” he said off-handedly. “Knowing that odds are you’ll be up cleaning all night by yourself, I took him up on it.”</p><p>Enjolras glared at him, his heart suddenly pounding both in anticipation and dread. “Why the hell would you do that?” he hissed.</p><p>“You should know he hasn’t touched a drink all night,” added Combeferre cryptically, as if he hadn’t heard. “Good night.” </p><p>“Night, Enj!” called Courfeyrac as Combeferre opened the door for them both. </p><p>Taking a deep breath, Enjolras turned towards Grantaire, who appeared not to have moved, keys still in his hand. Enjolras’s palms were clammy, his fingers cold as ice as he reached out to turn off the bluetooth speaker.</p><p>“Hang on,” said Grantaire, and Enjolras had to force himself not to jump at the sound of his voice. “Disconnect it and let me play some of my stuff. Just while we clean.”</p><p>“Okay,” said Enjolras. “I’ll start over by the couch, would you start in the kitchen? Just put the glasses in the dishwasher, I can put the bottles in the recycling later.”</p><p>Grantaire nodded, staring at his phone screen. Almost imperceptibly, a gentle guitar melody began to filter out of the speaker, joined by soft drums and … </p><p>“Is this… Dire Straits?” </p><p>Across the kitchen, Grantaire smiled a little, ducking his head. “I know it’s old as Christ, but the way it sounds - I can’t find the same sound anywhere else. It’s like… do you hear that guitar? How it’s just singing out across the stadium, all alone? It’s beautiful. Holier than any church I’ve ever been in.” He laughed softly, running paint-stained fingers through his hair. “Only hope I can make something like that. Goddamn.”</p><p>They worked in silence, dumping the leftovers and empty bottles into garbage bags and bins for recycling. It was almost companionable, thought Enjolras vaguely, through the haze of his pounding pulse. </p><p>“You will, you know,” he said haphazardly, sometime later. “Make something like that. One day, you will.”</p><p>Next to him, Grantaire’s hands stilled while tying up a garbage bag. He turned to look at Enjolras, who stared determinedly at the pile of empty beer cans at his feet. “You don’t believe that,” he said, as if explaining something very simple to a particularly obtuse individual. “You literally do not think that. Why are you saying it?”</p><p>His throat contracting, Enjolras shrugged at the ground. </p><p>“No, Enjolras,” said Grantaire, voice suddenly sharp. “You don’t get to say that and then not explain why, suddenly, you don’t think I’m the useless drunk you’ve always said I am.”</p><p>Frozen, Enjolras could feel his heartbeat rising even higher. </p><p><em> “Enjolras,” </em>said Grantaire’s voice, deadly and merciless, and Enjolras flinched slightly. </p><p>He felt more than heard Grantaire’s sudden intake of breath and the withdrawal of the warmth of his shoulder next to Enjolras as he turned to face him fully. Enjolras shut his eyes, biting the inside of his cheek, forcing himself not to tremble, trying to form some sort of coherent explanation --</p><p>There were warm fingers on his chin, turning his face against his will. Unable to meet Grantaire’s gaze, he looked down as hard as possible, desperately aware of the slight height difference between them, Grantaire’s few inches of extra height making Enjolras feel tiny. </p><p>“Look at me, Apollo,” said Grantaire very softly, and entirely without his own permission, Enjolras’s eyes leapt up.</p><p>Grantaire was regarding him with an expression that Enjolras had never seen - a mixture of doubt and desire, desperation and disbelief. Enjolras knew that his own expression must be pathetically similar, but before he had time to think about it, Grantaire closed the distance between them and kissed him.</p><p>Enjolras’s carefully-constructed rules - all the ways he had prevented himself from thinking about this, desiring this, hungering madly for this - fell apart in an instant. Something in him rose up and took him over; it was this other part of himself, something completely outside his control, that ran his fingers through Grantaire’s hair, pulled him closer and closer, opened his mouth for Grantaire’s tongue, and loved every second of it… </p><p>“Apollo,” murmured Grantaire’s voice from his collarbone, where he was pressing kisses and bites indiscriminately. “Can I take you to bed?”</p><p>Enjolras gasped, pulling at Grantaire’s hair involuntarily. <em> “Yes.” </em></p><p>Grantaire laughed softly into his throat. “Okay. Lead the way,<em> mon capitaine. </em>” </p><p>Blindly, Enjolras tugged him towards his room, reveling in the warmth of Grantaire’s hand in his, his breath on the back of his neck, the sound of his soft laughter as Enjolras accidentally bumped into the doorframe in his efforts to simultaneously get Grantaire inside and shut the door behind him. </p><p>Turning to him in the dark, Enjolras put his arms around Grantaire’s shoulders and pulled him down on top of him on the bed, pressing wild kisses into his hair and scrabbling at his t-shirt, trying to feel the warmth of his skin underneath.</p><p>“Hang on, hang on,” whispered Grantaire, pulling away for a moment, and Enjolras was terrified at the roar of displeasure and desperation that sounded in his chest as Grantaire moved away to whip the t-shirt over his head. Surely it wasn’t him, Enjolras, who felt so strongly…? </p><p>But then Grantaire’s hands were pulling Enjolras’s sweater over his head and he stopped thinking entirely.</p><p> </p><p>“Everything okay, man?” asked Combeferre a few weeks later. </p><p>Mouth dry, Enjolras nodded jerkily, keeping his eyes trained on his law textbook. </p><p>Combeferre narrowed his eyes at him from across the table. “You’re not eating your sandwich. I made it with extra pickles and everything.”</p><p>Not looking up, Enjolras shrugged. </p><p>“Let me rephrase,” said Combeferre. “You haven’t been eating, or sleeping, or even showering, by the looks of it. For the sake of your health, I’d like you to give me one sentence about what’s going on.”</p><p>Slamming his law book shut, suddenly furious, Enjolras glared up at Combeferre. “Grantaire and I are hooking up. Happy?” He shoved his chair back from the table, leaving his sandwich untouched on the plate. “Just leave it,” he snarled on his way out of the kitchen.</p><p>“I’d say you should be the one who’s happy, but I don’t think you are,” called Combeferre as he slammed his bedroom door closed.</p><p>Alone in his room, Enjolras sat down shakily on the bed (deliberately not remembering all the wonderful things Grantaire had done to him on this very bed) and buried his face in his hands, willing himself not to cry. </p><p>The door opened softly.</p><p>“Enj,” said Combeferre gently from the doorway. “You’re in love with him.”</p><p>“No,” said Enjolras immediately, in a strangled voice that he hardly recognized as his own. “No, I’m not in - I’m not - ” He was unable to finish the sentence, his throat contracting around sobs he could no longer prevent. </p><p>The bed sank down next to him, and Combeferre put an arm around his shaking shoulders. “You have to tell him,” he said softly, and Enjolras started as if electrified. </p><p><em> “No, </em> I can’t, he can’t know,” he gasped, scrubbing at his face, desperately trying to collect himself.</p><p>Combeferre watched him. “You’re only hurting yourself by hiding it.”</p><p>Unable to stop himself, Enjolras felt the words he had always shoved down now spilling out of him. “Do you know how many times I’ve thought about it? About telling him? I’ve lost count, Ferre. I can’t ever see him without wanting to tell him, but then in the moment it feels so - so good that I think, <em> this will be enough, it’s enough, it’ll have to be. </em> You know why? Because I’ve made this mess for myself. It was me, and only me. I’m the one who - who fucking <em> abused </em>him for so long, who said he was a useless drunk and worthless and incapable, it was always me…” </p><p>Combeferre scoffed softly. “When was the last time that happened? That was <em> years </em> ago, man. Back when we were starting <em> undergrad. </em> R’s been hanging out with us through all that, and he’s still around. He stopped drinking so much. You stopped being an asshole. And you guys haven’t fought in years. <em> Years, </em>Enjolras.”</p><p>Enjolras shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I - I said things that I - I would never forgive. He can’t feel the same. And maybe it makes me a coward but I can’t bear to hear him say it. I couldn’t.”</p><p> </p><p>“You feel so good inside me, R, <em> Christ,” </em>gasped Enjolras, enclosed on all sides by Grantaire’s warmth, Grantaire’s mouth on his neck and his breath in his ear. </p><p>“God, Apollo, you - ” ground out Grantaire above him, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he moved inside Enjolras, lighting up his entire body as his hands roamed Enjolras’s body, brushing his nipple, pulling his hips up. “Apollo, <em> Apollo - ” </em></p><p>“Yes, I’m - please, I’m so - ” whimpered Enjolras. Grantaire’s hips snapped into him even harder - and suddenly everything in Enjolras screamed out in refusal, a blank and irrefutable <em> NO. </em></p><p>Blindly, he pushed Grantaire off of him, out of him, scrambling up the bed as far as he could, curling into a fetal position. Wretched, unable to control himself, he felt sobs rise up in his chest until he could no longer stop them. Grabbing at one of Grantaire’s pillows and hugging it to his chest, he began crying softly, burying his face in the soft smell of Grantaire’s fabric softener. </p><p>“Enjolras?” came Grantaire’s bewildered whisper.</p><p>“Hang on,” gasped Enjolras through tears, pulling fiercely at the pillow, the sheets, his own hair. “I’m so sorry, give me a second.”</p><p>“Do you want me to go?” asked Grantaire hesitantly.</p><p><em> “No!” </em>cried Enjolras, throwing an arm in Grantaire’s direction, still clutching the pillow that smelled like Grantaire. “No, please don’t go.”</p><p>Warm fingers slowly entwined with his, holding tight, and something in Enjolras could no longer hold back.</p><p>“Okay,” he said, swallowing hard around tears and his own terror, staring down at the pillow. “Okay, I’m going to say some things, and they’re - it’s going to be a lot. And all that I ask is that you let me finish before you say anything. And then I can go.”</p><p>“Okay,” said Grantaire softly. </p><p>“Thanks.” He wiped his face with the back of his hand. “The - the thing is, R, that - that I’m in love with you. And I don’t just mean in love like - I don’t know, I just know that I am<em> insanely </em> in love with you.” On the other side of the bed, Grantaire went very still, but Enjolras couldn’t stop himself. “R, you - every time I see you, my whole day lights up. I can’t stop thinking about you. At first I thought I could control it, or that it wasn’t me, but I realized - I want to - to always be with you, to have you and to be yours, to keep you and love you forever. I <em> love </em> you <em> , </em> more than I ever thought possible <em> ; </em> I never knew I could love someone like this. You are <em> everything </em>to me, everything, I can’t - ” He took a deep breath, and braced himself enough to turn and look at Grantaire’s knees. “I can’t do this - this hookup thing anymore. I’m not even - Combeferre’s been complaining that I don’t even shower anymore, I’m not hungry, I can’t sleep, it’s ridiculous.” He tried to laugh. “So. I’m sorry, but I can’t keep doing this.”</p><p>He pulled his hand out of Grantaire’s limp grasp, pushed his hair away from his face, and took a deep breath. “Okay,” he said hoarsely. “Thanks for listening. I’ll head out now.”</p><p>A hand grabbed fiercely at his wrist, and he looked up in confusion to find Grantaire staring at him wildly, his mouth half-open. “R?”</p><p>Grantaire just shook his head, mouth still agape. “I - ”</p><p>“Do you want me to go?” echoed Enjolras.</p><p>“<em> No,” </em>said Grantaire, just as vehemently as Enjolras had. “Please. Stay.”</p><p>Tentatively, Enjolras set aside the pillow and slid down the bed, opening his arms slightly - but surely, Grantaire wouldn’t want -</p><p>Grantaire, his eyes suspiciously red, crawled across the expanse between them, wrapping his arms around Enjolras’s body and cradling him into his chest, burying his nose in Enjolras’s hair. Almost unable to process what was happening, Enjolras wrapped his arms around Grantaire’s neck, running his fingers through the curls at the base of Grantaire’s head.</p><p>“Enjolras - I’ve loved - I’ve loved you since - ” Grantaire’s voice caught. Enjolras pulled him closer, as close as he could, and then let him go a little to look up into his face. </p><p>Grantaire’s eyes were wet; he looked as overwhelmed as Enjolras felt. “R,” he said, and Grantaire’s eyes were full of hope. “You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I - I - fuck, R, I’m all yours,” he said, smiling freely, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of the truth.</p><p>Grantaire let out a great peal of laughter, the sound of the greatest joy Enjolras had ever heard. “Enjolras,” he said, pressing frantic kisses all over his face. “Enjolras, I love you. I love you. I love you.”</p><p> </p><p><em> [08:37] You: </em> so R and I talked and I think we’re actually going to give it a go together </p><p><em> [08:44] Combeferre: </em>OMG HONEY IM SO PROUD OF U TELL R HI YAYYYYHJHFHJ</p><p><em> [08:44] Combeferre: </em>sorry, that was Courf, couldn’t stop him. Congratulations!</p><p><em> [08:59] Combeferre: </em>…does this mean you’ll be taking showers again?</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>